


Over the Edge

by wrioter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cute lesbians, F/F, Other, idk what else to put here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:53:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16756474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrioter/pseuds/wrioter
Summary: The highly advanced city of MetroPolis is run by a council of totalitarian corporations that strive to control every part of society and its people. The Runners, a rebel group of traceurs, live to oppose the regime in any way they can. As tensions violently rise, they start to wonder if their freedom is truly worth a life of constant running.Alternatively:Clarke is a Runner, Lexa is the heir to an insanely wealthy corporation, and both of them manage to fall over the edge.(This is a The 100 and Mirror's Edge (game) crossover).





	Over the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> ok. I found this in my drafts from 2 years ago. It most likely has mistakes but I wanted to post anyway, also sorry about weird formatting. I haven't watched the show since Lexa died (bless up Heda) so I don't know anything about the newer seasons. I like Mirror's Edge and the canon universe is super cool, I think these characters fit in well. If you like this I will try and write more, though I'm not so familiar with The 100 anymore, I've forgotten a lot about it. However I did have a huge story arc planned out for this fic, more ships added etc, and probably still have it somewhere, so I could go off-piste. I don't want to watch the show again, I always liked the fic versions of the characters better anyway. Plus the writing is good practice. So we shall see.  
> If anyone reads this, please enjoy. Let me know.

“I wanna peer over the edge and see in death  
If we are always the same.”  
REALiTi - Grimes

It was another bright cold day of another unknown month, and the alarms were striking six. Clarke’s eyes shot open and she sat up quickly, pushing off the thin grey blanket. She pressed her palms to her eyes in an effort to quell the slight dizziness creeping past her temples, caused by an uneasy mix of anticipation and nerves. This was the final day. The exodus. She’d have been worried if it had started any other way.

“Prisoner 12100, ready yourself for collection,” came an automated voice from the speaker in the top corner of Clarke’s cell, replacing the blaring alarms. A moment later the lights turned on, dissipating Clarke’s morning fog as she swung her legs off the concrete bed, standing to stretch.

She covered her ears just before the multitude of screens lining the walls flashed on, beginning the daily routine of showcasing each corporate house. Clarke shut out the noise as best she could, the false words emanating from the screens and bouncing around the empty room as an eXec from the twelve corporations wordlessly spoke their piece about the endless possibility of innovation through tireless work of the dedicated masses.

“Help us build a safer future,” said Becca Quay, the eXec for A.L.I.E, the corporation centred on security and communications projects. Clarke pressed her hands harder into her ears. Next appeared Cage Wallace of Cage & CO, the corporate house that owned all forms of loCaste labour, from mining in the Dead Zones to inner city engineering. Clarke glared at the smile twisting from his lips as he spoke of improving worker conditions – another lie, she knew.

More advertisements passed over the screens with jarring rigidity and Clarke blocked out the sound as best she could. She hummed a tuneless song, periodically glancing over to the white door, today looking forward to the guard that would normally take her to morning induction. She stood still and waited, until a face she recognised flooded the screens and caused her gut to twist with disomfort. She drew her hands from her ears. Abbigail Griffin, newly appointed eXec of KaneConstructions, discussed the ongoing processes of the Downtown refurbishment with a small smile and soft tone.

Clarke felt the anger ripple through her and she tried to push it back down – lock it up tight again. She couldn’t cause trouble, not today, she had to get out. She stared with her fists clenched, willing herself to calm down, not missing the extra lines in her mother’s face, or heaviness in her eyes; the deepening frown etched into her brow. Afterward the screen went black, leaving Clarke to stumble over the mental picture. She’d not expected her mother to stoop so low – especially after their separation that yielded years devoid of any contact, bar two months into her time in juvie when the SPEC Prison Officer had told her a year had been knocked off her sentence through the legal (and monetary) aid of Marcus Cane. She’d tried to fight it, would have rather lived out her original sentence than accept help from the very people her father had taught her to fight against. Now though, she was begrudgingly appreciative. She shook her head in an effort to clear her brain.

The door swung open and jolted Clarke from her thoughts. The guard that walked in wore white combat armour with a rifle slung over his shoulder - the SPEC markings on his chestplate denoting him as an officer of AzgedaSec. He stilled when he saw the look on Clarke’s face.

“Thought you’d be happier, Griffin,” he said, half-joking.

Clarke frowned slightly and set her mouth in a line. She nodded once.

“Just get me out of here Lincoln.”

He gave a small smile of acknowledgement and moved over to handcuff her. Clarke had struck up some semblance of a friendship with Lincoln Mosse, one of the higher ranking officers of the prison. She was grateful for the connection, though it was barely more than a few reassuring pats on the shoulder or the occasional wink across the canteen, she felt as though they shared a mutual understanding. Lincoln pushed her gently in the back to move her forward, directing her out of the cell.

“You’ll go to reception where you’ll be assigned work in one of the loCaste areas,” he bent to whisper as they walked down the hallway, “they’ll take you to a van and drive you somewhere - probably to the Dead Zone. I don’t know for sure: my clearence doesn’t go as high as dangerous prisoners.”

Clarke attempted a grin, though it came out as a grimace. If she had been over eighteen when she’d been arrested, she would’ve already been executed for her crimes.

“You’re not getting in the van,” Lincoln continued as they rounded a corner, momentarily straightening to his full height while they passed a patrol guard, “look for the red door. Then run.”

“Okay. Thanks Lincoln,” she replied, surprised. Perhaps she had underestimated his friendship - if her escape was traced back to him, he would face the firing squad. She turned her hand in the cuffs and reached to clasp his wrist, showing her gratitude.  
“You got friends in high places, Griffin. Your mother sends her regards,” he added, squeezing her hand in response.

Clarke clenched her jaw at the mention of her mother and pushed down the anger that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to get out of here alive.

“Get ready,” Lincoln murmured as they approached the reception desks. A man in a creased shirt and tired eyes peered down at the prisoner number witten on the chest of her orange jumpsuit.

“Griffin, Clarke? Hm. You’re the Runner,” he said, squinting at his computer screen.

She gave him a hard stare and he smirked in response.

“Oh, you’re going to love it in the Dead Zone.” He gave a wave of his hand and Lincoln turned, walking towards the exit. Through the glass walls Clarke could see several armoured vans lined up, ready to transport the newly released prisoners to their assigned work placements. The rain droplets bounced off the panes in their hundereds, creating an echoing symphony inside the reception room. She watched as a scuffle was started by a man who had managed to knock over his assigned officer - he turned and tried to headbutt another guard, his hands cuffed behing his back.

Though the noise of the rain, Clarke heard the small click as Lincoln unlocked her own handcuffs. She could feel the adreneline starting to coarse through her limbs. She’d missed this - the fight or flight mindset. The focus. The freedom.

“Go now,” Lincoln said urgently, pushing her sideways. A gunshot went off and Clarke glanced back breifly to see guards swamping the man, and Lincoln running to join them. She sent him a silent word of thanks before turning to sprint down the side corridor, feeling the rush in her legs. She smiled wide despite her situation, turning left before reaching the aforementioned red door at the end of the hallway. She burst through into the pouring rain, relishing the feeling of the water pounding down on her face as she threw her head to the sky.

The skyscrapers rising from the ground around her looked grey in the morning rain, their smooth surfaces blurrily reflecting the coloured lights of Downtown Arkadia. From this angle, Clarke could barely make out the jagged shards of tonDC tower and the dignified tops of the residential Sky City. She itched to climb. Tilting her head back further, she spotted several drones flying high through the air, the yellow lights on their underside creating momentary trails in the haziness of the rain. This was MetroPolis - the City of Glass - the place that Clarke called home. It was beautiful and ugly and wonderful and terrifying, and Clarke longed to be immersed in it all again.

“Would I be ruining the moment if I yelled ‘We’re back bitches!’ at the top of my lungs?” came a voice from her left. Clarke felt the laughter bubbling in her throat and she spun around, only to be knocked over in the fiercest of hugs known to humankind. She winced as the breath was knocked out of her before wrapping her arms around Octavia, her hands clutching the fabric of her jacket. She held tight.

“I missed you O. So much,” Clarke said, burying her head into the crook of Octavia’s neck. The other girl hummed in response and, after a moment, withdrew from the embrace to punch Clarke hard in the arm.

“What the fuck?” Clarke murmured, rubbing the sore spot.

“That’s for getting caught,” Octavia said. She punched Clarke on the other arm, “that’s for leaving me behind,” Clarke yelped in protest as she crossed her arms over her chest defensively, “and this,” Octavia said as she kicked her in the shin, “is from Indra. But I’m sure she’ll tell you that herself.”

Clarke frowned at the mention of her mentor, though the shouting of the SPEC guards drifting through the open door disrupted her thoughts.

“Shit, we gotta go Griff. Here, take this,” Octavia handed her an earpiece, small enough to wear without being too noticeable.

“A CoLink?” she asked, bewildered.

“Yeah,” Octavia said, warily glancing at the prison building before grabbing Clarkes wrist and pulling her along into a jog, “Raven figured out a way to hack it so that it doesn’t connect you to the City of Light. It’s like, you’re using the interface but you’re not actually connected to the grid. Or something. She calls it the ‘flame’...”

“Who’s Raven?” Clarke replied, putting on the earpiece. She recoiled as it buzzed with interference, deafening her. “Something’s wrong with it,” she said, catching up to run alongside Octavia.

“I’ll have you know there is absolutely nothing wrong with my piece of technological mastery,” souded a voice in Clarke’s ear, almost causing her to trip.

“That’s Raven, they’re-” said Octavia with a grin.

“Kind of amazing? Hacker extrodinaire? Engineering prodigy? King of the mainframe? All-round genius? Need I go on?” Raven cut in.

“Hey Rav, meet Clarke-”

“Yep, Griffin. Runner wonderkid, likes her coffee with five sugars, once drank so much booze that she decided it was a good idea to base jump from tonDC tower and almost got killed drunkenly traversing the cityscape - the very same Clarke Griffin. Correct?”

Octavia glanced over at Clarke sheepishly, mouthing a quick apology.

“You’re somewhat famous out here Griffin. You were all over the news when you got locked up, then again when your mom was promoted,” Raven continued, not missing a beat, “she’s kinda hot by the way. Like, I’d bang her if the situation ever presented itself-”

“Sorry about your mom, Clarke,” Octavia said, trying to cut Raven off.

“It’s okay,” she mumbled in response.

“I will not stand for you cockblocking me Blake- oh SHIT,” Raven exclaimed through the earpiece, “there’s grounders on your ass. You better start actually moving or they’ll liquify you via a downpour of gunfire.”

Octavia cursed under her breath and turned around to Clarke. She drew a container from her pocket and pulled out what looked like a contact lens.

“Flame 2.0,” she said by way of explaination, “put it in, quick.”

Clarke blinked a few times before placing the lens in her eye. There was a brief flash of advertisements before her vision returned to normal.

“What is this?” she questioned as Octavia set off in a sprint.

“I call it ‘runner vision’. It’ll show you the most direct path to your destination,” Raven chatted as Clarke took off after her friend, “just follow the red trails,”

Clarke watched as a path of faint crimson residue unfolded infront of her.

“Obviously it’s not there in real life,” Raven continued, “just in the digital landscape. You know, that’s the crazy thing about the CoLink - everyone’s like, mentally walking around in this imaginary city but physically moving in this real one. I don’t get the appeal. I love the idea, but thank fuck I’m not connected. I guess-”

“Raven,” crackled Octavia’s voice over the flame, “shut up, we’re trying to run.”

“Oh, sorry. Shout if you need me for anything. See you soon,” Raven replied. “And welcome back to reality, Griffin,” There was a click as they disconnected.  
Clarke could hear the sounds of the SPEC guards dimming as she rapidly put distance between herself and the prison, climbing the lower buildings in order to get to higher ground. She could make out Octavia in front of her, blurry in the rain, feeling her shoes slip slightly over the concrete.

“How is Indra?” Clarke asked.

Octavia cleared her throat and spoke through her earpiece “just the same, I guess. A few years older. A few years angrier. It’s changed out here, Clarke; changed for the worse. The guards have got tougher - they raided a safehouse up in Sky City and killed the Runners that were there. It’s bad, real bad.”

Clarke gritted her teeth. She hadn’t expected any less, not with the control that the corporate houses held becoming ever more prominent.

Suddenly, a drone swung out of the air, almost hitting Clarke over the head. It began to spin and spit electricity from the rotating barrels on its underside. Clarke ducked and rolled to catch her breath behind a nearby air vent. She crouched as the drone glided noiselessly towards her, waiting for her opening to strike. She heard the tell tale crackle and readied to attack, just as Octavia jumped from a taller part of the rooftop behind her, knocking the drone to the ground. She rolled to break her fall and spoke to Clarke through the flame.

“You go. I’ll be the diversion,”

Clarke began to protest when she spotted a group of guards scrambling over the side of her building. One yelled and they began to open fire, though she bolted in time, leaping off the roof to the building opposite.  
“Just like old times Griff. Still alive?” said Octavia, breathing hard.

“Still alive, O,” Clarke replied, sprinting after the red trail that would guide her back home.

***

Lexa woke up to the distant sounds of movement far below her apartment. She rose from her bed, stretched, and slipped out of the glass doors to the balcony, staring down at the streets beneath her. It felt like a typical Monday morning in MetroPolis; up here, the perpetual sound of car horns and video advertisements were mere background noise to the inherent pulse of the city, like capilleries to a beating heart. She sighed. It was overcast, the sky pregnant with grey clouds that moved uneasily over the tops of the giant buildings. To Lexa’s right, the edges and mirrored surfaces of tonDC tower stood high above any other building, symbolising the innovation and development of culture - or so they said. Lexa was convinced it was a sentinel spying over the rest of the city, holding secrets inside its reflective walls.

Tomorrow she and her father would meet with the representatives of PikeSec as they offered plans for a new drone model that they needed the funds and technological expertise to create. It was a strained collaboration, as it was between many of the corporate houses, a position that Lexa hoped to change when she came into power. She was the heir of WoodsEnterprise, the corporation that specialised in software and electronics - all of the automobiles, domestic appliances; even the CoLink, was partly owned or made by her father’s company.

She felt the first spots of rain hit her bare arms and she turned back inside, idly switching on the television as she passed by on her way to the kitchen. The morning advertisements changed as she made her coffee, scooping up her CoLink that she’d discared on the table the night before. It wasn’t really a CoLink, she speculated; more a modified version that protected her privacy. Anya had given it to her, called it the ‘fire’ or something thereabouts, invented by one of her hacker friends. Lexa didn’t care much for technology, though it was impossible to speak ill of it in such a society as the one she lived. Those that went off grid were called outCastes, and they were either arrested or shot on sight. Lexa sipped her coffee sporadically, letting the pounding of the rain on the windows lull her into a daydream of Runners and rebels. She slipped on her earpiece.

“Morning baby cousin,” Anya purred, her tone teasing.

“Hi Anya,” Lexa replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Hey, guess who gets out of juvie today?”

“Hm?”

“C’mon Lex, do you not watch the news? That Runner girl... Clarke Griffin. The one who’s mum is eXec of CaneConstructions,” Anya said.

As if by coinidence, the television abruptly flashed to the news station as the anchor reported a missing prisoner from the city’s central prison. Clarke’s mugshot appeared on the screen, her blue eyes framed by a crop of wild blonde hair. Her face was bruised as if she’d been beaten, her lip bloodied, but the visible injuries didn’t seem to quell the steady fire in her eyes. She was beautiful, Lexa observed.

“Yeah, she just came up on the screen.”

“Wait really? What’s happening?” Anya asked excitedly.

“She escaped from the work placement they were sending her to, I think. Aren’t you there on duty today?”

“No,” said Anya, “Titus, your wonderful father, my adoring uncle, switched me and Lincoln around this week, at his request. So I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.”

“Hm,” Lexa hummed absentmindedly, gazing at the screen.

“I swear, the one time anything exciting happens in this goddamn city, I’m not even there to see it,” Anya said exsasperatedly. “Hey Lex, I gotta go but I’ll see you soon. Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Anya,” said Lexa as her cousin disconnected. She glanced back at the screen still focussed on Clarke Griffin, a drone camera now giving an overhead shot of the commotion on the ground. It switched to a young SPEC officer, the coloured stripes on his chest denoting he was of high rank.

“We at both AzgedaSec and PikeSec would like to remind anyone that may see the terrorist Clarke Griffin or her accomplices to report the details to the authorities immediately. These people are highly dangerous and not to be trusted under any circumstance.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. The screen switched to another drone shot, this one over the rooftops of Downtown Arkadia. It zoomed closer to the ground and paused before heading to a blur of movement running along a ledge. Lexa put down her coffee and squinted, trying to make out any detail through the haze of rain. The drone moved closer shooting out an electric current and the figure stopped, rolling into cover. The camera shifted slightly and Lexa could see her - a look of wide-eyed defiance and unbridled anger. It was at once absolutely terrifying and achingly familiar. The moment passed before Lexa could work out what it was, another figure jumping towards the drone and causing the screen to go black. Lexa turned off the television and stood in thought a moment, conjuring up Clarke Griffin in her mind. Nothing new came to her, so she went to get changed, pushing the stray thoughts away as quickly as they had come.

***

The rain had subsided by the time Clarke made it to the safehouse. The dregs of late afternoon sun crept over the tops of the concrete buildings, making moumental shadows of the omnipotent skyscrapers. She’d stopped to catch her breath at one of her favourite parts of the city - an old hideout in the form of an abandoned warehouse that she and Octavia used to train in. It had been strange to go back there, back to a time where everything seemed to hold some sort of stablity or assurance - since then, it seemed like both everything and nothing had changed. Clarke had caught a glimpse of herself through the broken panes of glass scattered on the floor, her expression fragmented, face distorted. Maybe it was just the golden tinted hue of being young that she missed. Her heart ached for something more.

Clarke approached the door tentatively, wary of Indra’s probable impending anger as she reached for the handle. The door swung open, throwing her backwards onto the ground. Clarke looked up, ready to spring to her feet.

“Gus?” she said, a smile beginning at the corners of her mouth.

“Clarke!” he roared, pulling her up by her shoulders and drawing her into a hug. It was a sensation that she had missed; all at once she felt protected and her previous thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind. “Apologies for knocking you over. We have been most vigilant after the reccent attacks on our people.”

She nodded slowly, “how have you been? You look older.”

Gus loosened his embrace and propped her back onto her feet. “Yes,” he replied kindly, though there was a hint of sadness in his expression, “it has been hard here for us. But we are glad you’ve returned. I missed you Clarke, and the talks we used to have.”

“I missed you too Gus,” she said, “maybe you can fill me in on everything?”

“Of course. You must rest first. Indra is inside - she wishes to talk to you - and I will say, though she may not mention it, I know she has felt your absence sorely.”

Clarke nodded again, a barrage of emotions rippling through her.

Gus looked over at the setting sun, sighing into the cooling air. “I must return to feed my birds,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze, “but you will come to see me soon?”

“Yes Gus... thank you.”

“May we meet again, then,” he replied, bringing a hand to his heart and giving a bow of his head. She returned the gesture, watching him until he was out of sight, running over the rooftops. She turned back to the door and clasped her hands together nervously.

“Griffin, you may come in,” came a stern voice from inside, and Clarke knew she had been spotted. She walked into the safehouse. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she took in the familiar sight of the old screens lining the walls, several connected to computers on the far wall. Blinds covered the glass windows, shutting out most of the natural light, through several industrial lamps were set up around the room. Indra stood at one of the windows, looking out to the city below.

“Indra...” Clarke began, halting when her mentor turned around.

“Clarke...” she paused momentarily, as if to choose her words carefully. “It is good to see you well,” she said eventually with a half-smile.

Clarke ducked her head - she had been expecting far worse. “It’s good to be back,” she replied.

“Certainly.” Indra paused again, scowling slightly. “You should not have got caught. You must be more careful now that SPEC has tripled their patrols in our part of the city.”

“I- I know, Indra. It was a mistake-”

“In this life, Griffin, there are no mistakes. There is life and there is death, then there is the edge. You run it, or you fall. You were lucky. It won’t happen again,” she said curtly.

“No.”

“Good. Or I shall have to kill you,” she added, deadly serious. Clarke frowned.

“Was that a joke?” piped up Octavia, walking in through the door behind the pair. She saw Indra’s face and quieted quickly.

“Maybe,” replied Indra, her well-schooled features stuck in place, causing Octavia to grin.

“I can’t loose you, Clarke.” Indra said suddenly, breaking character, “I made an oath to your father that I would protect you. That I mean to do, until I can no longer.”

Clarke clenched her jaw. She knew the tears wouldn’t come - she’d spent them all after he’d died. Clarke Griffin didn’t cry. She nodded at Indra appreciatively - she’d lost people too. More than Clarke would ever know. Though their relationship was tenuous at times, they worked through it; they had to, because they needed each other.

“Now go,” Indra said, breaking the spell, “you must rest. I have a job for you, come find me at first light.” She turned to look back out of the window, arms crossed.

“Pizza?” asked Octavia when they arrived at the sleeping quarters. Clarke's stomach growled in response and Octavia laughed loudly.


End file.
